What Makes a Monster

♱Sixty-Six♱

The door shuts softly behind me. I wish my thoughts would mimic it because they are anything but soft. That sly bastard, and by sly bastard I mean adorable dork! What the hell am I meant to say to that?! That's a damn compliment and he knew it and I know it and now I'm blushing like crazy! I know I am. My entire body is on fire.

I take a chance to inspect my appearance in one of the guest bathrooms. Sure enough, my face is so red that I look sunburned. My hair sure as hell doesn't help, only brings out the color more. Splashing cold water on my face, I take a deep breath and say, "You got this, Wallie. You've had dinner with Soran before--"

Which ended when Cathen burst in...don't think about that!

I smack my face a few times. "Calm down. This is just a dinner date. It's nothing. It's fine. Stop freaking out."

But telling myself not to freak out is like forcing myself to freak out even more. By the time the carriage is ready I'm about to fake sick and hide beneath my blankets. I'm not given a chance to do that though seeing as Soran has arrived. He says something to Higra atop the stairs then joins me at the doors, looking as perfect as ever in a tailored navy suit.

"Ready to go?" He asks while I open the door.

"Y-Yeah."

Soran smirks at my stutter. He walks away without a word.

The carriage driver opens the door for us. I'm a little taken aback since that's normally my job. Soran steps in first, leaving me wondering where I'm meant to sit. Across from him? Beside him?

"Wallie," he calls my name like a soft lullaby. I shiver.

"Ah, sorry," I apologize, swiftly hopping in and saying, screw it, as I take a seat next to him. Soran stares, which has me squirming in place.

"S-Should I sit over there?" I'm about to get up and do so until Soran takes my hand.

I freeze in place, staring at the connection between us when Soran answers, "No. Stay here."

A soft touch to my chin has me looking up, meeting Soran's gaze. He's close, almost hesitant in leaning forward. My eyes flutter closed in anticipation, or maybe to hide my obvious embarrassment. I've yet to cool down; the kiss doesn't help, only amplifies it. When Soran's lips meet mine, I lean into him, relishing in the quiet touch. His hand gently holds me and his lips move slow.

The carriage lurches forward. We fall apart, but only for a brief moment. Another kiss, less hesitant than the first. The warm spring air grows humid. My fingers twist into the soft fabric of his jacket. Soran's hand combs through my hair. Our kiss deepens until I'm short of breath, panting against his lips when he pulls away for a breath. This time there's no hesitancy though, only yearning for more. Soran's hand slips around my waist, holding me close while I cling to his jacket.

Afterwards, we're both blushing. I like it, and I like how Soran takes my hand again. He's leaning back now, peering out the window silently. Not that I'm any better, I'm looking over the interior as if I expect to see something new. The silence isn't awkward, instead, it's comforting.

When we pull up to the restaurant, that comfort evaporates.

"I can't go in there," I whisper, peering up at an immaculate light gray brick building. The windows are held in place by twisted iron frames of ivory leaves. Spiral marble columns hold up an arched black awning. The double doors are monstrosities in their own right, narrow and tall with stained glass windows and a ruby carpet leading inside. This is a place for Soran, not me.

"Why not?" he asks.

"Look at it."

Soran looks. The door opens. He turns back to me and says, "I don't see why you can't go in."